0yoquieroiero0 @ 2009-01-26T22:29:00

2009-01-27T03:30:16Z

So...I'm really, really terribly sorry, but I'm going to have to drop Pete and Frank. Classes this term are just too intense for me to manage to keep them up, and it's not fair to you guys if I'm never on.

Thank you, those of you that played with me, and maybe I'll see you again. <3

people are strange, when you're a stranger...

2009-01-18T05:55:26Z

I...think this village is maybe going to take some getting used to. It's odd, total strangers being so kind, so open. Between Gerard bringing me food and Ray feeding me for nothing and Blake offering me a bed to sleep in, I dunno. I just kind of keep waiting for the other foot to drop, I guess. Because Blake, she's like me. I've never met another one, not ever, and she's, I don't even know. She's nice.

I never really expected them to be nice.

'Course, I never really expected Death to be sad and shy and scared to look anyone in the face, either. Poor thing.

0yoquieroiero0 @ 2009-01-09T20:01:00

2009-01-10T01:08:13Z

OoC

Name: Stephani
AIM Screen Name: oxygenforlosers
LJ username: oxygen_losers
Time Zone: The one with Florida in it? I'm an idiot and can never keep those straight...

IC:

Name: Frank Iero
AIM Screen Name: yoxquieroxiero
LJ username: 0yoquieriero0
Age: 18
Status (meaning noble, servant, vampire, witch, etc.) Werewolf/peasant/beggar/thief
Sexuality: bisexual
Picture: http://republika.pl/blog_rj_3604637/4974830/sz/frank_iero.jpg

Bio (at least 100 words, please):

He'd had a family, once. Probably. He thinks so, anyways, because there's this fuzzy, warm memory in the back of his head sometimes when he dreams, and he always wakes up thinking home.

Pack.

Whatever.

He doesn't have any more than that, though--it all blurs, runs together in this mishmash of full moons and changes and the bars of the cage he'd lived in as long as he could remember. It was because he was different, they said, and different meant bad. Different meant dangerous. Different hurt.

Different also paid well.

He'd only figured it out once he'd escaped, scared and seventeen and alone for the first time in his short life. They were a freak show, a traveling gang of horrors never meant for anything but grim fascination and he'd never really learned how to live outside of his cage.

He'd hated the cage then, hated every second locked inside and the way he could never hide from the crowds watching him and prodding at him, poor, orphaned little wolf-boy.

He's learning now and...now he thinks he'd give anything to be back inside, where the world made sense.

RP Examples (at least two, please):

1. (fantasia-verse, this time around ) The cage was too small when he was like this. He barely fit anyways--not enough room for a growing boy, the snake-woman said, even though he didn't grow much past his thirteenth birthday--but this was so much worse, seemed so much smaller and he'd been told stories about prisoners going mad before. He'd never seen a prison, of course, but the wizened, wrinkled little man who tended to the dancing bears had seen everything, and he told such wonderful stories.

Frank wished he was here now.

He wished anyone was here now, actually, anyone besides the rough handlers charged with hauling him up onto the stage, because they never spoke to him. Maybe they thought he was an animal inside, too, maybe they thought he wouldn't be able to understand them, or maybe they just didn't want to think of him as human. Whatever the reason, he was used to this by now, so he didn't fight as they buckled the thick leather strap around his throat and dragged him out of the cramped, musty confines of his cage into the tent where he could already hear the dull murmurings of the crowd.

2. (some...other verse for this one.) "Oh, you fucker. You goddamn motherfucking fucker." He bites down hard on the end of his unlit cigarette--he told Gerard he'd quit, and he will, he will --and wipes messily at the sweat dripping into his eyes. The engine he's been wrestling with since ten o' clock this morning doesn't seem particularly impressed with his temper, and resolutely stays broken.

"If yelling at it worked, you'd have been done three hours ago." There's a soft slurp and Frank angles a glare over his shoulder at Mikey, who's leaning on the garage door with a cup in his hand and a stupid, self-satisfied grin on his face.

"That sounds like a milkshake," Frank says and narrows his eyes. "That sounds like a milkshake, and it had better be strawberry, and it had better be for me. Because I've been busting my ass trying to fix this thing for half the day, and I told you I suck at normal guy things. I told you that."

"The girl jeans and eyeliner were a pretty good clue. And besides, that's Gerard's car, not mine. I don't see why I should have to share with you."

Additional Information?: nothin' comes to mind....